


Do You Sleep?

by APendingThought



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Coughing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical, Medical Procedures, Nurses, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Pneumonia, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Sick Character, Sickfic, Whump, poor Beka!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APendingThought/pseuds/APendingThought
Summary: Yuri isn’t sure what keeps him and Beka together. But when Beka falls dangerously ill, he learns fast.





	1. Disqualified

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn’t think there was quite enough Otabek whump saga existing in the world. Had to fix that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beka doesn't feel well. Not at all.

_do you eat, sleep, do you breathe me anymore?_  
_do you sleep, do you count sheep anymore?_  
_do you sleep anymore? -- Lisa Loeb_

 

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, due to medical reasons, Otabek Altin has been disqualified from the Eastern Cup Free Program.”_

This does not go over well.

“What the hell!” Yuri screams, storming the cramped space of the infirmary. 

Victor, the suited old prick, perhaps wisely opts to ignore him and continues speaking to Otabek’s coach.

“You made the right call, Katya. He’s not going on the ice like that.”

“Like what?” Yuri stomps.

“Lower your voice!” Victor snaps back. "Otabek is trying to rest."

Seated upright on the gurney, Otabek holds a plastic mask over his nose and mouth. He’s in costume but the ornate collar is undone at his throat. Everything that could possibly constrict him is loosened, making him appear disheveled. His face is pale and sweaty. His eyes are vacant.

Yuri stares in disbelief.. “You can’t be serious. You’re benching him for a cold?”

Victor restrains himself, ready to shake sense into him as the teenager glares down everyone in the room. Yuri is familiar with that look. He’d like to see him try and shake anything into the Ice Tiger of Russia.

“The sponsors aren’t willing to chance releasing him and I agree.” He lowers his voice so only Yuri can hear, grabbing him firmly by the shoulder to make himself clear. “Be quiet! Beka feels bad enough without you spouting vinegar!” 

“Hunh!” Yuri jerks himself free.

From the sidelines, Katsudon speaks up with his two yen or whatever. “He was dizzy during warm ups, practically collapsed in the green room after numbers were drawn.” When Yuri’s facial expression doesn’t change, his lowers his tone. “Yurio, he has a fever! His temperature shot up past thirty eight!”

This news hardly stirs his sympathy. He himself as skated with fevers before. As long as he can stand, he can skate. Yakov wouldn't dare bench him for something like that. What's so dire about a fever, anyway?

Only then does he notice. Even with the stage glitter dusted on Otabek’s cheekbones- his eyes are glazed and at half mast. The pallor beneath his beautifully tanned skin makes him look thinner. In Yuri’s moment of observation no one speaks and suddenly, the teenager can hear just how loud and labored Otabek’s breathing is.

For his part, Otabek seems overtired of being discussed. He sits up and pulls the mask down onto his chest. Exchanging quiet words with his coach, Yuri is glad when she leaves. Victor places a hand on Beka’s shoulder.

“I’ll release a statement for the press. A car is coming to take you back to your apartment. Get some rest until then.”

“Do my best.” Otabek turns his fading focus on Yuri, opening his arms. “C’mere, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that.” Yuri pouts, taking a seat on the narrow gurney. Before Otabek get a chance to explain, he encloses his head in his arms and pulls him fiercely close. He wants Beka to feel his enraged trembling before he opens his mouth.

“You didn’t text me.” Yuri’s voice strains but he's close enough to Beka's ear to make out.

“Sorry. Busy breathing.” For someone too sick to stay in rotation, Beka somehow has enough moxie left to apologize. Smug son of a bitch. 

“This is bullshit.” Yuri mutters into Beka’s shock of damp black hair. Pressed this close, he can feel the way Beka’s heart pounds, vibrating his entire body.

“It’s just a game, Yura.” Beka’s fingers wander comfortingly through Yuri’s hair. “I’ll be back.”

“But it’s not just a game.” Yuri seethes because he knows what Beka knows. It’s his country, his paycheck, his sweat, his sacrifice, his life lost in one three minute segment.

“True.” Otabek relents darkly. “But, I’d gladly give up those three minutes to take a full breath without choking.”

“So what now?” Yuri grumbles. "Will they fine you?" 

Otabek's shoulder slump wearily. He's clearly too tired to go over this again. “The committee is....making me... get a medical. They’ll notify me when I am cleared to return to ice.”

Yuri clearly wants a word or five with them. His eyes train on the judge panel, gaze narrowing on the fuckers who have cut Beka from the competition. He makes a move to rise but a strong hand clamps around his wrist.

“Stay with me?” Otabek sounds so weak, dark eyes pleading. “At least, until the car arrives?”

Yuri nods, lays him back down against the pillow. Watches him struggle to breathe. A million tiny cusses pop and explode in his brain like candy in a soda can.

“Alright, Beka. Alright.” He says the words but they’re as empty and meaningless as he feels.

Beka is unconscious when Victor parts the curtain to fetch him. Yuri has been listening idly to the stats, scores broadcasted after each hopeful takes the ice. He might have qualified for next rounds, he might have just broken even. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

Beka doesn’t wake when Victor leans over to press the back of his hand to his forehead, exchanging nervous glances with the medic on staff. 

“He’s burning up. Did you dose him?”

“We can only administer over the counter.” The medic explains. “He’ll need clearance for anything else.”

“I see.” 

Yuri bristles. He is well aware of the European administrative penalties concerning drugs of any kind. The moment a medalist steps off the podium, he is whisked behind a curtain for a needle poke. 

“Yura, his car is here. Take him home.” Victor says softly.

It takes a bit longer than expected to rouse Beka, Yura thinks, shaking him with enough force to tighten his bicep. 

“Beka!” He shakes his shoulder roughly until Beka’s eyes flutter open. “Get up. We’re going.”

He tells himself it’s just the sleepiness that makes Beka stagger against him as they head for the exit. His weight is lead against Yuri’s thin shoulders. But he can still place one foot before the other and Yuri is a lot stronger than he looks.


	2. Aromatherapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yura tries to help Otabek sleep in every way he knows how.

_Do you take plight on my tongue like lead_  
_Do you fall gracefully into bed_  
_anymore?_

It’s Russia and people cough more than speak. Throats rasp on winter air. Smoker voice strikes without tobacco when you train twelve hours of a twenty nine hour day. Meals get skipped, pills get popped and an athlete does what is expected. Training stops for no man in competition.

He doesn’t notice right away though they’ve been housing together for the past five months. The skating season in Moscow is brutal, with hopefuls across the Eastern bloc vying for a shot at nationals. They are both decorated medalists which raises stakes impossibly higher. Yura is the new symbolic hope for Mother Russia but if he falters, the great shadow of Nikiforov will always be there. 

There’s only one Hero of Khazakstan which is considerable burden for a man of only twenty years. Practice is not only his own necessity but being seen has turned into something symbolic to his fans, his backers, his fronters--especially his promoters. Every time his face shows up, an anthem echoes in someone's head. National icons cannot afford a sick day. He looks beaten, defeated before he’s even grazed the ice, but he holds his head straight on his shoulders when the cameras click. When he returns home, the slump returns. The exhaustion turns up the volume loud enough for the little old lady next door to silently hand him a plastic shopping bag of tangerines and pat him lovingly on the hand.

The cough shifts from a polite throat-clear to a gruff warble wherein it progresses rapidly into a deep bark that leaves Otabek gasping. It ignores medicine. Resists arrest. He runs a fever.

At night, Otabek’s skin burns against his. He soaks their pillow with sweat, the constant wheeze of his breath making Yuri’s own chest feel tight. 

“How are you even able to get this hot? I dosed you up twice!” Yuri whines as though Beka has any control over the situation. The sheets are a tangle between Beka shoving them away and Yuri pushing them back.

It’s been an endless week. They both desperately need sleep but Beka can find no rest. His head hurts. His chest aches from prolonged coughing. He isn’t interested in sex either. He has no energy to work with though normally he can scrape some from under the cushions if Yuri pouts hard enough. 

But not tonight.

He makes do with a regretful kiss, long and slow and beautiful until Beka’s chest seizes up and he’s thrusting Yuri aside to double over.

Grumpy beyond belief, Yuri rolls over and feigns sleep. He’s irritated minutes later by Otabek sitting on the edge of the bed, choking and heaving violently enough to rattle the mattress.

“Beka?”

Otabek’s dark hair is plastered across his forehead. He shivers when Yuri reaches up to press his fingertips against the back of his shaved head, slides them down his neck

“You’re cold?” He mumbles sleepily.

“Freezing.”

“Bullshit. You’re as hot as the day is long.”

“Go…back…to sleep.” Otabek pants, face tight with pain.

“Who can sleep with you choking like that?”

“Cold just….moved…to my chest. Took…medicine.”

Yurio bites down on his comeback. Tantrums won’t change the drained look on his sweet Beka’s face. Guilty and lost, he gathers him into his arms and holds him close, pressing his cheek to his blazing forehead. His voice, when he finds it again, is small. 

“What can I do?”

Beka swallows though it obviously causes him pain. His brows rise. “Scared, my soldier?”

Yurio places his hands on Beka’s shoulders, massaging firmly to break up the congestion. “I can’t sleep if you can’t.”

“Then sleep outside.” Beka wheezes with a grin.

“Fuck you.” Yuri kisses his forehead.

Beka shrugs, gets up, and moves sluggishly to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Steam. Like banya…in my hometown.”

Yuri smirks. “Sounds like Katsudon’s onsen.”

“His what?” Beka rasps between coughs.

“Nevermind.” Yuri leaps off the bed to follow him. “I’ll be right back.”

Dedushka’s rearing had left on him the enduring impression that old ways were the only ways. Why spend precious money at a chemist when a plant or two, a jar of dried herbs which sell much cheaper could do the same thing? Besides, Potya went crazy for the scent of his potted eucalyptus plant. A few leaves crushed into boiled water made for strong, bitter tea. Even Grandpa’s homemade cough remedy mixed foul-tasting pine sap. It tasted like shit but it did the job.

Potya stretches with a light purr when he pads into the living room, tearing a fistful of dark, glossy leaves from the squat pear-shaped shrub. He shoos her away when she slides her body against his ankles, asking for a scrub.

“Not now, sweetheart.” Dashing into the kitchen, he flicks on the burner beneath Grandpa’s heavy iron kettle and fixes a mug of tea, shaking loose, pungent flakes into a strainer. That done, he joins Beka in the bathroom.

Beka is seated and shirtless on the toilet seat, clouds of steam already misting the mirrors white.

Crushing the dark eucalyptus between his hands, he tosses the mulch into the bathtub. The scalding water releases their oil and soon the thick air grows sharp with their scent. Beka takes in huge lungfuls, shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

“I made tea.” Yuri says to break the silence. Beka only nods, exhausted. He sits slumped over, cradling his hot temples in his cold hands. Small spasms build into deeper barks in his chest. 

Yuri brings him a mug laced with vodka. In Russia, vodka is medicine and although Yuri despises the tastes of his national drink, Beka takes it down without flinching like a brave soldier. He doesn’t tell him about the spoonful of honey he’d dumped in to improve the flavor. He just wants to knock him out for the night.

The liquor makes Beka drowsy and flushed on the outside while the medicinal steam does its work. Unraveling his congested bronchial tubes, opening his chest and breaking up the hardening clumps lodged there.

Very soon he is coughing so hard he sweats. 

When the battle is over, Beka’s body winds down. Encouraged, Yuri rubs long strokes up and down his back, feeling the muscles beneath his skin tighten hard with each gasp. A damp towel ready to wipe away excess sputum. He bites his lip at the reddish tint left on the cloth. The sputum is rust-colored and gritty, like mud. He’s never seen anything like it before. But the more ugly Beka brings up, the better he seems to breathe so he keeps his mouth shut.

They are both rosy-cheeked and dewy when they step out of the bathroom. Beka’s cough never truly vanishes but he can finally take a full breath without gasping and that is the best they can hope for tonight. Yurio checks the thermostat to make sure the room is warm enough before crawling back into bed where Beka has already found his pillow. He pulls the covers over his chest and curls up beside Beka, tucking himself underneath his bicep, against his side. He lays his head against the solid firmness of Beka’s sternum, aware of the way his lungs expand with each hitched inhale, trying not to disturb. 

“Cough if you need to, dammit.” He says firmly. Not like Otabek needs his permission to breathe.

Beka makes a shuffling sound, burying his nose in his hair as he often does before passing out.

“Good night, kitten.” His voice sounds even deeper. 

“Yeah.”

He closes his eyes. At some point, Beka’s breathing slows into a pattern like sleep. But all Yuri can focus on is the stain on the washcloth and Beka’s rabbit quick heartbeat--far too fast for a man his size. It takes an eternity for him to drift. He’ll be a sleep-depraved terror tomorrow, he knows it.

Otabek’s arm grips tighter about Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him close to snatch up every last bit of warmth.


	3. Rales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week but Beka still can't sleep.

The reception nurse takes his temperature before she even glances at his insurance card. Yuri has to credit Soviet doctors-- they do not have time for bullshit. If you’re not running a temperature, they’re not interested. Go home and drink tea. See a specialist who will accept money just to hear patients whine. 

The result must have bumped Otabek to the top of some list because they do not wait long before they are ushered into an exam room. The nurse instructs Beka to disrobe.

Otabek heaves himself onto the table and peels off his leather jacket and burgundy sweater. His quiet compliance irks Yuri but then again, he doesn't seem to have much energy left. How could he be drained so quickly? The sponsors had paid for a taxi to this private clinic. It’s not like he’s been exerting himself today. But Beka is always short of breath lately. Yuri halts this nagging worry at the back of his mind. Actually, he stomps on it with a steel-toed boot until it stops kicking.

“You’ll be fine, Beka.” Yurio assures him with all the confidence of a customer at a store, ready to negotiate an agreeable diagnosis from the white coat. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Beka isn't up for talking but he nods, pulling on the exam gown. Yuri chalks his silence up to the fatigue and his natural aloofness around strangers. A few seconds later the same nurse who showed them in returns to take his blood pressure and pulse. She is curt but warm enough which seems to ease Beka’s tension. She scribbles the stats down on a chart and informs them that the doctor will be with them shortly.

He can’t be with them soon enough. Otabek’s eyelids are already drooping, head nodding and limbs shuddering with chills. The joint is freezing and all Beka has to wear is a thin cotton nightie! Yuri throws an arm over Beka’s shoulder and presses himself close, both to share his body heat and reassure. Beka leans into his side gratefully.

The doctor, when he arrives, is a geezer. Yuri lets out a mental groan. Geezers like to chat.

After an obligatory period of small talk that isn’t nearly small enough, the old man begins to ask a frustrating abundance of pointless questions. At least he can work and gab at the same time, Yuri thinks, as the man uses careful fingertips to prod at Otabek’s throat and palpitates his chest. Yuri wishes he would work faster. Can’t he see that Beka is feeling awful? Beka is compliant enough, answering each insipid question.

"How long have you had the fever?"

Beka frowns at this, wracking his memory. Fortunately, Yuri has this information at the ready.

"Started low about two weeks ago, thirty eight pushing nine these days. Worse at night. Medicine doesn't do shit."

Beka throws him a warning glance. The doctor adjusts his spectacles.

“I see. Taking any other medication?”

“No.”

“Smoke?”

Beka shakes his head.

“We’re athletes.” Yuri supplies. “We’re not allowed to muck up our insides.”

“Describe the cough, please.” 

Yuri bites down on his reaction. Beka’s been doing nothing but cough since they arrived! Does this genius expect a goddam interpretive dance?

“Feels like a pup inside my chest.”

“A pup?”

“Yeah. When it’s awake, it barks to wake the neighbors. When it sleeps, it whines and whistles. My heart is just the bouncy ball it drags around in its teeth.”

This makes the doctor chuckle. Fucking Otabek and his lame metaphors. 

“And how long, would you say, has it been?”

Beka sighs, struggling to recall. “Umm…about 2 weeks? But it wasn’t this bad before.”

“It’s been exactly nine days since he’s slept through the night without hacking up a lung.” Yuri cuts in. “And he’s been breathing like a washing machine for ten fucking days counting.”

“Yura, language.”

He is losing patience fast but the old doctor seems unaffected. At his age, semantics don’t bother him.

The doctor tugs down the gown and listens to Beka’s chest for a long time. Yuri seats himself close to the exam table, knee fidgeting up and down, tapping nervously against the floor.

“Quiet please?” The doctor drones, not glancing up from his watch as he times Beka’s heart rate. Yuri halts his knee with a swallowed curse.  


“Deep breath.” The doctor instructs, stethoscope positioned on Otabek’s upper chest. Yuri is beside himself. Is this man vague? Why is he asking him to breathe when it’s plainly obvious that he can’t? That’s why they’re here in the first place!

Doctors really are the stupidest people on the planet, Yuri decides.

Otabek soldiers on, obediently pulling in as much air as he can but Yurio could have told the old man it wouldn’t go down well. His exhales expel from his lungs in a forced whoop, evolving quickly into the awful hacking wheeze that’s been their bedtime soundtrack. Yurio wants to curse the man out when he sees sweat forming on Otabek’s hairline but the doctor does not change expression, he merely shifts the stethoscope to the left side of his back.

“So is he dying or not, doc?” Yuri has been waiting too many nanoseconds for answers.

The doctor unhooks the stethoscope and motions for Otabek to pull his shirt back on before responding.

“Not dying, no. But he’s fairly sick.” 

“A child could have told me that.” Yuri scoffs.

“Yurachka…” Otabek mutters and if it’s possible, he manages to look even sicker. Yuri bites his tongue.

“I’m going to order X-rays to confirm but it looks like we’re dealing with double pneumonia.”

“Come again?” Yuri dead pans.

“I’m hearing rales in your lungs, Mr. Altin. I’d like to admit you for a few days, start you on oxygen and some heavy antibiotics.”

“Rales? What the fuck is that?”

“Listen.” He plugs his stethoscope into Yuri’s ears, pressing the bell against Yuri’s own chest. “Breathe in.”  


Too dumbfounded and insulted not to, Yuri complies. The sound of his inhalation fills his ear drums cleanly, like wind through a tunnel.

“That is normal.” The doctor lifts the bell and switches it to Otabek. “This is not.”

The doctor doesn’t have to request a breath from him, Otabek’s attempts at normal respiration reveals he’s in distress. Yurio frowns at the noises coming from inside his Beka. Behind the rapid thud of his heart, his lungs expand with a strange, keening whistle. When he releases, a hissing crackle, like Velcro being ripped open scrapes against his eardrum.

“Oi doc, why does he sound so fucked up?”

“Normal lung sounds are even and unobstructed. Mr. Altin has infection clogging up his lungs which is causing them to fill with fluid. All that buildup is making it difficult for him to breathe which is why you hear rales—that cracking sound.”

Otabek jerks back in exasperation, pulling uncomfortably away from Yurio’s hands and the stethoscope. He’s exhausted and sick and no longer wishes to be a guinea pig. He looks pale and ready to faint.

The doctor flips briefly through his chart, scrawling down some notes.

“His vitals are not where I’d like them to be so we’re not able to send him home just yet.”

“Not like he can fix ‘em overnight.” Yuri mutters, ever ready to pick a row.

“Claws away, Yura.”

A nurse presses a clipboard and pen into Yurio’s numb hands. “If you’ll fill this out, we can get Mr. Altin to triage and get him feeling better as soon as possible.”

Arguing is the last thing Otabek seems to have the strength to do right now and the paleness of his face halts the harsh words dead in Yuri’s throat. 

“Don’t worry, most patients respond rapidly to treatment. A few nights of oxygen therapy, antibiotics and a nebulizer will have you back up again in a matter of days.”

Yuri looks to Beka in agony. The finals are coming in a few weeks. He’s only begun the choreo for his free skate. The country is depending on him, the media will have a field day.

Yuri knows what he must be thinking.

But he can’t get that unnatural crackling sound out of his head. Even Beka’s heart is working too hard, and the rest of his body can’t keep up. Beka sits there motionless on the exam table as though he doesn’t have the power left to get down from it.

He meets Beka’s eyes. Beka nods in grim resignation, trusting. Yuri releases his breath since Beka must hold on to every last drop.

“Where does he have to sign?”


	4. Admittance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither his soldier or his doctor is able to put Beka back together again.

Things move quickly after that. Yurio finds he isn’t allowed to accompany Beka in the exam room at the hospital no matter how loudly he screams. Beka silences him with a stern look. “Don’t cause trouble.” Is all he says before he is wheeled away.  


Yurio is left in the waiting room, a useless, angry clod surrounded by mothers and sniffling babies and grandmas choking up spit. He wants to kick something. One of the babies, maybe.

Instead, he goes outside and buys a cup of tea to settle his nerves, give his hands something warm to hold, something to prevent his fists from curling.

Poor Beka. He is so very ill. None of the nurses or doctors at the hospital seem to have time to answer his questions. All he can do in a waiting room is wait--something he is a phenomenal failure at.

He texts Viktor rapidly to keep his sanity and them updated. Beka is in hospital. He has pneumonia. He doesn’t know anything more than that.

It is Katsudon who texts back first. Yuri is hardly surprised. The piggy’s sympathy and shock practically splurge all over the text. Yuri scrolls down until he tires of looking at heart emojis and little blinking stars. 

He puts his phone away.

After about 20 years, he is finally called over to the nurse’s desk and allowed to see Beka.

“How long does it take to put a man in a bed?” Yurio wonders out loud as he follows the nurse down the corridor. Some patients have not yet been assigned beds so they wait lined up in the hallway, passed out on drugs. Yura promises them new levels of Hell should he find Beka in any similar situation. The nurse doesn't seem too bothered by his foul attitude.

“Quite a while." She answers. "A lot of setup goes into admitting new patients. There are exams and tests to be done, rooms to prepare depending on their diagnosis. He was just finishing up his X-ray when I last saw him.”

“But he’s already done all that at the clinic! Don’t you people share notes? He’s fucking tired!” Yuri seethes. “At what point do you clowns let the poor fuck rest?” The nurse professionally ignores his venom.

“I assure you, Mr. Altin is resting comfortably. We have him in an Observation Ward for now. He is just receiving his first round of medication.”

As much as he wants to punch everyone around him, Yuri has to admit the old windbag is giving him information he can use at least.

“What medication?”

“We have him on antibiotics to fight the infection and bring down his fever. He’s also on fluids and mild painkillers to help his breathing. Because his lungs aren’t working properly, his chest muscles have been pushing extra hard to keep him breathing and after a while, they start to ache. The cannula is doing most of that work for him to give him a chance to rest.”

“Er, thanks you walking textbook.” He utters under his breath though he means it as a compliment.

“You’re welcome.” She hands him a face mask. “You’re required to wear this inside the ward for now.” Yuri cringes at the hideous greenish gray shade of the scrub mask but dons it anyway.

He's glad the publicist paid attention for once and procured Beka a private room. Their insurance is at least good for something. Beka doesn’t need anyone else’s germs or paparazzi, thank him very much.

Moscow public hospitals are not known for ambience but the walls of this room are light beige instead of the frightening grayish green of the other wards. There’s a night table, a lamp, a TV, a window and a cushioned chair at the bedside.

Yuri can't help but stare at the amount of wires attached to Beka. He looks like a robot underneath the flannel blanket covering his lower half. A device is clipped to his finger with a light that blinks on and off intermittently, various electrode leads snake beneath the collar of his hospital issue gown. A drip is taped into the crook of his elbow. A loud and persistently annoying beep fills the room.

“They trussed you up good, huh?” Yuri wrinkles his nose.

Beka’s smile is forced. “Hi.” Is all he says. He is breathing hard and fast. Two nurses, the one who had brought him here and a smaller, darker woman are also in the room. Yuri cranes his neck to get a good look at the monitor, irritated by the source of the beeping. A number flashes in red on the screen.  


80%

“That’s…” Beka has to stop for breath. “…not good, is it?”

“No.” The nurse frowns, unhappily. “You’re low. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy.” Beka answers, eyes closing. “Can’t…catch my breath.”

“Okay. We’re going to give you a nebulizer treatment, see if that gives you some support. Marta?”

The respiratory therapist, as her name badge states, steps in. First, she gently removes the nasal canula. Then she studies Beka’s face, expertly applying a tight fitting mask over his nose and mouth. She apologizes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s tight but we have to create a tight seal so none of the medicine escapes.” She adjusts one of the machines next to the bed. “We’ll start with medium pressure albuterol and then see if there’s any improvement.” Soon a soft whooshing hiss joins the beeping. “Sometimes it helps patients who have trouble breathing to visualize the airway, filling with air and opening up the alveoli.”

“Too much work for this brain.” Beka says tiredly between shallow gulps.

“But it’s working. See?”

Yuri watches the monitor’s number flash and change. 80…82…83….87… the numbers gradually climb higher until he finally tops out at 92. As it does, the beeping slows down.

“Nice response.” Marta says with relief. She makes a few more adjustments. “Feel better?”

Beka nods. Yuri can tell the mask makes it hard for him to speak. He can also tell he is falling asleep.

“How long is he going to stay like this?” Yuri asks.

“We’ll be monitoring him closely for the next three days. That is usually the time it takes for turnaround.” She points to the machine. “That monitor is keeping track of his oxygen saturation. If it dips too low, it makes a noise. We can hear the same noise from our station if it goes off.”

Yuri accepts these facts, shuddering at the thought of what could have happened had Beka not gone to the doctor. How could he have spent one more night fighting this hard to breathe?

Linka, the older nurse, injects a thin syringe of fluid into one of the lines. “I’m giving him a small sedative dose. It can be hard to sleep the first night of admittance so this should help him rest. You can sit with him until next rounds.”

Yuri swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Can I…um, could I please have some water?”

“Of course.” The old nurse squeezes his shoulder. “It’s been a scary day, hasn’t it? Take a seat.” She invites. “I’ll be back with water.”

One by one the nurses leave. Yuri sits, his mouth full of sand and his chest raw and aching. He is glad Beka cannot see him. He’d make fun of himself right now if he were standing outside his own body. He feels exactly the same way he must look.

Beka, at least, seems calm. His eyes are ringed with deep circles, the result of so many nights of non-sleep. The mask covering his face looks frightening but he tells himself that without it, Beka cannot be breathing well enough to sleep. His eyes flick over to the monitors. The 92 is holding steady.

He stretches out his arm, resting his gloved hand on Beka’s forehead. Beka turns his head, leaning into the touch.

“So…this is…it?” Yura begins, tentatively.

“It?” Beka’s eyelids flutter, already half conscious.

“You know.”

“Mm. Yeah.” 

“It fucking sucks.” Yuri grits out, eyes burning. “It fucking hurts.”

“Yes.” Beka says faintly from behind the mask, eyes distant. “But I'm glad you’re here.” His voice trails off, eyes closed. He’s out like a light.

Feeling empty inside, Yuri stands up and finds the nearest wall. He doesn’t care who hears him. He punches it over and over and over again until the only searing pain left is in his knuckles.


	5. Rigamarole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri paces Beka's hospital room up and down, restless tiger that he is.

Yuri paces Beka's hospital room up and down, restless tiger that he is. He has a vague recollection of nurses and other staff coming in and out. They’ve been kind enough to let him stay with Beka. He doesn’t want to leave, despite how gross he feels at having not showered or changed for a night. He can't go back to their apartment, won't be able to sleep in the large empty bed with nothing to keep him company but the tight knot in his belly.

At some point he gets a frantic and overly emoji-laden text from Victor and his Pet Pig. They’ll be coming as soon as they can escape the rink. They’ll bring fresh clothes and a laptop. Deodorant. Chocolate. His charger. The essentials.

He’d always imagined hospitals to be quiet places where very sick people are allowed to rest and recuperate but that is hardly the reality. Nurses are in and out constantly. No sooner had Beka begun to groggily shake off the haze of his drug-induced sleep when he is crowded with an onslaught of upbeat nurses and their questions. Blood gets drawn. His temperature and blood pressure are taken multiple times. Yuri finds it infuriating on Beka’s behalf.

“Don’t they ever leave you alone?” Yuri grumbles, arms crossed over his chest as the last nurse exits. Beka shrugs.

“Doesn’t bother me.” If anyone can be good-natured and breathless at the same time, it’s Beka. “They’re quite pretty.”

“You’re lucky you’re dying, asshole.”

Yuri spends most of the day just trying to keep himself and Beka awake. He wants Beka talking, wants to push away the slow stir-crazy boredom of this place. But Beka dozes most of the afternoon away and the nurses let him, for the most part. They only wake him for an occasional light meal—soup or some sorry-looking toast-- but Beka has zero appetite.

He perks up a bit at least when Victor and Yuuri arrive. They bring flowers and a covered bowl of homemade porridge from Yuuri.

“Well, doesn’t someone look gorgeous!” Victor decalres, flamboyant and overbearing as ever.

“Fuck you.” Beka smiles, about to say more when Yuuri rushes over and throw his arms about his neck as though all the wires and tubes don't exist.

“Everyone’s been so worried!” The Japanese boy babbles. “When Yuri told us you were admitted, word spread fast. Your rink mates have all been cheering for you!”

“Tell them thanks.”

“So, has Yura been a dutiful nurse?” Victor teases. “By your bedside? Mopping your brow? Clutching your hand?”

“You can both leave whenever you want.” Yuri informs them.

“Then I suppose you don’t want this.” Victor airily lifts the valise full of fresh clothes and the laptop. Yura all but attacks him.

“Hand it over, old man!” He snarls, wrestling it out of Victor’s grip. He can hardly wait to shower and change.

He leaves the Old Man and his Pig talking quietly with Beka while he changes in the private bathroom. That’s another ugly secret the nurses had let him in on. Beka is too sick to leave his bed even to use the goddam toilet. He’s had a catheter inserted. The man can’t even take a normal piss. Yuri feels devastated for him.

He steps out of the shower very quickly, feeling somehow guilty for not being next to Beka. He towels off and throws on a clean T-shirt and black jeans. Beka’s eyes are closing, already half-asleep. Victor and Yuuri are donning their jackets.

“You’re leaving?”

“He seems tired.” Victor says in a hushed voice. “It’s late anyway, visiting hours are over.”

“Thanks for coming. He looked a lot better when you came in.”

“Oh, he was just sick of seeing your face all day, brat.” Victor pats him on the head. “You just stay by him, Yura. He’ll get through this, don’t worry.”

“See if you can get him to eat a little rice gruel. I made it plain so it won’t bother his stomach.” Yuuri speaks up. “Japanese remedy.”

Yuri nods. He’s sleepy himself. The bustle of the day and the pale, drawn hollows of Beka’s cheek have been haunting him. He wants to sit down. He wants to rest, wants to settle but in reality, he just wants all of this to go away.

“Un.” He promises. “I’ll try, anyway.”


	6. The Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri discovers medicine can only do so much.

At some point, he grows accustomed enough to the routine vital checks and medication doses to know what time it is. He schedules the day by how many times Beka’s mask comes off. Once in the morning for breakfast. A few hours later for lunch followed by breathing therapy. Then once more in the evening. The nurses are sweet and even help him as he tries to encourage Beka to eat.

“Come on, Katsudon made this rice slop just for you. You’re not even gonna try a little?”

Beka shakes his head. “Sorry Yura.” He says breathlessly. “Just…feel so bad.” He's not kidding either. Beka wouldn't say it if he didn't feel it. His face is paler than normal, almost gray. Eating seems to be the last thing he wants to do but Yuri knows he hasn't actually consumed anything beyond a bite for a matter of days.

“One spoon won’t kill you.” Yuri presses. Beka sighs, agonizes, and then finally opens his mouth with a resigned sigh. When Yuri lifts the spoon to his lips he accepts it but he can tell Beka is doing this more for him. He swallows, strains and lays back against his pillow.

It hurts to watch.

"Not gross?" Yuri dips the spoon back in hopefully. Beka nods but Yuri doubts he can actually take more. All he ever wants to do is sleep.

Gradually, some of the routines began to change. When he opens his eyes next, two new nurses are there doing a thorough suctioning through one of the tubes attached to Beka’s chest. This happens at least three times over the course of a night. It's a gruesome process, this lung cleansing. As morning creeps closer, he can tell that Beka’s lungs shouldn’t be producing so much crap.

Daylight comes, finally, and a new shift of nurses begins to move quietly around the unit. Yuri catches the slight frown of one nurse as she checks the reading on the temperature gauge.

“Problem?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral and quiet. As far as he can tell, Beka is asleep and he wants him to stay that way.

“His fever is up,” She says slowly. “I don’t like the look of that, especially with the gunk we’ve been taking from his lungs. And his oxygen requirement has risen. We’ll have to see what today’s x-ray shows.”

The lab coat in charge has different things to say after examining Beka’s stats and listening to the worsening build-up in his chest. His eyes are gentle. He must sense how frightened Beka is trying hard not to be.

“The antibiotics we gave you the first night don’t seem to be working. So we’re going to switch you to a different one effective today. I know you must be feeling pretty awful but we’re doing everything possible to get you better.” 

Beka’s head nods slightly at these grave words. Yuri tells himself that the faint sound he hears is one of compliance not pain. Beka the soldier. Beka the hero.

His hero.

The doctor continues speaking to Beka whose eyes follow the man’s face behind his mask as best he can.

“So our goal right now is to open up your alveoli and keep them open. It’s going to be pretty rough but it’s the hill we have to climb before you can recover. As bad as you are feeling already, I want to go up on your sedation and your pain meds. Just for a day or two, until we get this under control. Do you understand what I have explained?”

Beka blinks rapidly. He points to the medication mask covering his nose and mouth. The doctor nods, understanding. “Sorry Mr. Altin. But we can’t remove the mask just yet.”  


Yuri catches one of Beka’s hands as it curls in frustration on top of the sheet. He steps forward and slips his phone into his other hand.

“Here. Type.”

Beka uses his thumb to tap out a sentence.

_Do whatever you need to._

Once again the doctor leaves, the nurses leave and they are left alone. The quiet won’t last long, he knows. A medication change means they’ll soon be back to bother Beka. More sedation also means Beka won’t be awake for much longer.

He sits down in the chair, shifts closer to Beka, and takes his hand. The silence in the room is different somehow. Beka seems less placid, less calm. His heart rate monitor is the only sign he gives, however, increasing its pace.

“How do you feel?”

“Bad.” Beka answers, words muffled behind the plastic.

“They’re going to knock you out for a while.” Yuri bites his lip to keep his voice steady and his tone upbeat. “Lucky fuck, you get to sleep for days.”

Beka makes no comment but his heart continues to race.

The thought of sleeping for an entire day let alone days would have driven any other competitive athlete worth his salt to tears but Beka does not betray any emotion. His acceptance is more unsettling. Yuri cannot even fathom his own degree of panic if he were the one on that bed. Maybe it’s just the happy drugs already pumping through his bloodstream that is keeping him so compliant? Beka is too weak even to speak.

 _Tired._ Is what he types on the phone dashboard.

“Don’t you give up on me, asshole.” Yuri’s grip tightens on his hand.

"Not…giving up. Just…tired." Beka gasps to prove he means it.

Yuri can hear the exhaustion in his voice, can feel how completely drained he is of all this. There is such thing as sick of being sick. He feels helpless to change this. If he could, maybe he would switch places.

Yuri clears his throat.

“Right, well…I’ve got your laptop, and mine and that stack of DVDs Katsudon sent over. We can try to watch something before they come back with the mallet?”

He is rewarded by the sight of Beka’s mouth, behind the tubes and adhesive tape, crooking upwards into a faint smile.

They get half way through Yuuri’s copy of “Deadpool” before the doctor returns with the new meds and sedation. Yuri stands in the background, gnawing on a thumbnail as they speak short words to Beka and administer the drugs, explaining each step as they do. Three differently colored syringes are injected into his IV. The whole procedure takes about ten minutes. When it is done, they do one last vital check—heartbeat, temperature, blood pressure—before leaving. 

By the time the door clicks shut, Beka is falling hard. A nurse says something quietly next to his ear, some gentle advice about sitting close to Beka, comforting him as the drugs take effect. Sedation isn't always pleasant to experience or watch. It's best not to feel alone.

Yuri sits quietly, intent on the rise and fall of Beka’s chest as he sinks into his sedated trance. He does not slip into sleep immediately, despite his weariness. Dark, unfocused eyes flutter, as though trying to take one last picture of his face. 

“Beka?” Yuri asks, feeling small and unimportant—an alien feeling. He wants to hear Beka's voice once again, just to make sure he knows he is with him. Panic swells silently in his chest, threatening to spill out of his eyes.

"I'm here, Beka."

Even if he could respond, Beka is high as a kite and far away. Yuri knows it wouldn’t make much sense anyway.


	7. Talk to Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and waiting don't go well together

_I saw you as you walked across my room_  
_You looked out the window, you looked at the moon_  
_You sat on the corner of my bed_  
_and you smoked with the ghost at the back of my head_

 

The following day grinds against Yuri’s brain, like the leaden mortar and pestle his Dedushka scraped together crushing spices, fear and boredom leaving a heady scent. 

Beka’s heart rate slows to a steady crawl. Yuri watches the number shift erratically. Is he having a bad dream? Is he scared? In pain? Yuri stretches out his fingers to touch the back of Beka’s hand, only to snatch them back again when a nurse enters to add a nutrient drip to his collection on the IV pole. “To keep him hydrated.”

Desolation is sitting in this room with Beka completely unaware. He sleeps and sleeps while Yuri merely exists. He hovers. He spurns. He naps now and again when his restless body gives in. The room is large enough for him to lay down a towel and attempt yoga. It’s hard to regain one’s center when the digital chorus of your boyfriend’s heartbeat won’t stop blipping at the edge of your consciousness. Yuri settles on stretches, keeping his muscles conditioned and loose. He has to keep himself fit. He’ll feel the pain of it later when he finally gets back on the ice.

When they finally make it back to the ice.

The nurses are his only company so he has no choice but to warm to them. He finds it helps him to assist them as they care for Beka, combing his hair and wiping away the old sweat from his skin. One even comes in to give him a shampoo in bed. After all, he’s not had a proper washing since he was checked in.

Yuri pays attention to the way the nurses speak to Beka as though he can still hear them, explaining everything they are about to do. Even greeting him good morning or good afternoon. Linka, the nurse who had adjusted his breathing medicine on the first night, explains to him as she checks Beka’s blood pressure.

“We never know how much patients can actually hear or feel when they are sedated. But we do know that some of it gets through to them, so it matters. If you were asleep and very sick, you would want to know what was happening to you, wouldn’t you?” She slings her stethoscope around her shoulders.

Yuri cannot possibly argue with this but the downcast look on his face must be broadcasting his emotions to the entire world. Linka squeezes his shoulder.

“Why not talk to him.”

“About what?” He asks dully.

“Anything. Everything. He might hear you. Especially someone like him. So young. He’s not ready to quit by far but he’s got a long road ahead. He’s going to need some help.”

“Help.” Yuri repeats as she leaves. “Right.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yuri feels It sitting at the back of his skull. It’s smoking a cigarette there and the smell stinks. He wants It to feel nicer, wants It to make Beka open his eyes and look at him, wants It to tug gently on his hair and tell him everything will be okay.

But It doesn’t work like that.

He sends one text to Yuuri, keeping him updated on Beka’s condition.

_Pretty much the same. Fever stayed up all day. But his blood pressure is stable and he’s still more handsome than you._

The reassuring texts he receives do nothing.

He braids his hair to pass the time and when this doesn’t cut his boredom, he takes the comb and arranges Beka’s hair. It is soft and clean from the previous day’s wash and smells of mint. The scent makes him want to cry. 

He has another long night of suctioning and murmuring to look forward to. The doctors stop by at one point to review Beka’s progress. There is nothing in their words that come as much of a surprise to him, except the x-ray results.

“See that? His left lung is opening up a little. Still a lot of fever but I think he’s starting to trend down.”

Any news is good news in this place, Yuri thinks. 

“Beka?” He holds his hand. All he can manage to say is his name. He wants to make jibes, wants to say something acidic and witty. He wants to tell Beka that he’s getting better, that his days of flirting with cute nurses are done.

Instead he trains his eyes on the hollow of Beka’s throat, at the beat of his pulse throbbing there. He can see his chest and stomach rise and fall with every breath he takes. He badly wants to nestle by his side, tuck himself beneath one arm and feel safe. But there’s too many wires, too many leads that will tangle or unhitch and then the nurses will scold him.

He settles for lowering the bar on one side of the bed, freeing up the space as he’s watched the nurses do whenever they change Beka’s sheets or give him a sponge bath. He presses his cheek over Beka’s sternum, careful not to jostle any electrodes or the blood pressure monitor on his bicep.

The heavy thump of Beka’s heart comforts him. Let’s him know he’s still with him. Replaces the absence of his voice and dries up the damp threatening Yuri’s eyes.

He whispers. “I want to go home.”


	8. Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking care of someone tells you a lot about that person

Sometimes it's dark, sometimes it's light, sometimes it's a weird artificial mix of both. Yuri tells time in bites of food, naps in his chair, the occasional shower and stretch. He realizes he is losing track of time. Was it the second or third day of Beka’s admittance? He has to pull out his phone and check to make sure. 

Beka’s schedule never changes. Medications, x-rays and suctioning. Nurses in and out at all hours. The respiratory therapist comes to visit at the same time every day but it is clear from the way she approaches the bedside that Beka is too sick for any sessions. The woman speaks to him softly, caresses his forehead and leaves.

 _People must really take to Beka._ Yuri realizes. _Maybe it’s not that Beka is just handsome. They simply enjoy being around him._

Yuri gnaws on these thoughts. How can these strangers who care for him possibly know him when he’s been asleep for two days? It doesn’t make sense but the nurses still interact with Beka as he sleeps. The small things they do for his comfort are touching. Rub his hands and feet with lotion. Comb his hair. Straighten his blankets. Untangle his lines. Freshen his face with a damp cloth. The older ones pat his cheeks or his chest affectionately as they chat, as though he is their son and not just another patient on their rounds. They speak kindly to him and warmly acknowledge his presence. Sometimes they bring food--a small sandwich or mug of tea--just to let him know he's being noticed.

Linka, the nurse he has now come to recognize as the head nurse assigned to Beka, hugs him one night when sleep never comes because his eyes never stop burning.

“There there. It’s not so bad. Did you see, I only had to suction him once tonight? He’s getting better, your boyfriend.”

It feels so odd to be hugged by a person he doesn’t even know. And who said anything about boyfriends? But he tries to do what Beka would have approved and hugs her back, thanking her awkwardly. 

“Why won’t he wake up?” Tears soften the edges of his demand.

“That’s just the meds, dearie. He’s starting to breathe with more strength now. Didn’t you notice?”

Yuri shakes his head, his brain buzzing at the first positive news he’s heard in days. “But the machine…”

“It’s blowing only at a minimum rate. He’s breathing far better now, even with the medication. The doctors have already eased up on his sedatives, he should wake up any day once the fever is gone.”

Yuri feels his heart pound painfully against his ribs.

“Really?”

“Temp down, x-ray almost normal, oxygen output stable? He’ll be knocking down fences by tomorrow, I’ll bet.”

“And then?”

“And then it’s up to him.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yuri wakes from an exhausted sleep against his chair. His back has begun to permanently ache from resting in the same position every night. Stiffly, he drags himself off the cushion only to find he is not alone.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

The respiratory therapist is back. She's pretty and younger than Beka’s regular doctor and the one making all the calls on his meds. Her hair is a mass of tied back chestnut curls and she bothers to wear a little makeup. She’s standing by Beka’s bed, studying the monitors. Yuri swipes roughly at his eyes, ashamed of his crumpled sleepiness.

“No. I’m awake.”

“Your sleep is precious too, you know.” She says. “I swung by to see if he’d be lively enough for a session. They’ve told me he’s doing much better so I was hopeful.”

The only thing changed about Beka this morning is his gown, which must have been replaced by the night nurse at some point. He lies on his bed very still. Trails of sweat track down his forehead as his fever breaks. 

“How soon?” Yuri asks though he doesn’t expect her to have a hopeful answer.

“Hard to tell. Maybe a day or two?”

Yuri groans, collapsing back into the chair. These days have been torturous enough. He actually misses holding Otabek, misses sleeping next to him at night.

“Go ahead and sleep if you need to. Someone will always be around so they’ll wake you if he shows any signs of coming to. Anyway you sleep like a cat, you’ll probably know he’s awake before even he does!” 

She smiles good naturedly but this does little to lift his spirits.

“But he isn’t waking up.” He hates how petulant he sounds, how childish.

“No,” She says slowly, shining a pen light at Beka’s pupils. They respond, contracting normally. “No, he’s not.” 

“But why?” Yuri can’t stand this frustration any longer. “If he’s doing so well, why isn’t he waking up?”

“Difficult to say. He’s been very ill for several days now. With the fever, he never got much real rest even with the medication so his body may just be recovering from all that stress.”

“So you’re saying he’s just tired?”

“That or he’s hiding. This has all been rather traumatic for him. He may not be ready to come back yet. Either way, given his rapid rate of recovery, my guess is he won’t keep us waiting long.”

“You don’t know him.” Yuri says with authority. “He’s a tease.”

She glances approvingly over the handsome lines of Beka’s face. Though the illness has made him lose a little weight and his muscles have thinned, he isn’t gaunt by any means. He is still the strong, dark athletic hero in most people’s eyes.

“No kidding?”


	9. Ribbon's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri has had about all he can take.

Although the murmurs from the medical team have turned to more affirmative nods and minor change (Yuri notes with triumph the removal of one or two wires and tubes), from Beka there comes no sign. Progress is slow, he is told, so he sulks over his fiftieth round of Tetris. At one point, Beka’s mum Skypes in from Almaty to gaze with watery pebble eyes at her sleeping son and thank Yuri profusely for being there. Her accent is rustic and he doesn't quite catch every word but he is sure he hears “blessing” and “God” thrown around multiple times. He fumbles over the conversation before gratefully hanging up. He's not used to people thanking him for anything.

He grows more sullen and bitter by the hour, despite the warm cups of soup and tea sandwiches delivered by the nurses. Hunger is only part of the demon wrestling with his brain. He even sends a curse or two past the nurse, Linka, who had hugged him. He isn’t exactly certain why he is angry. It can’t be at Beka and Lord knows, he needs someone in his pubescent life to be angry at.

Dedushka calls him at one point, his scratchy voice reminding him of the virtues of patience.

“I’ll try, Grandpa.” Is all he can say because never in his life has he once refused grandfather.

The lowlifes around him don’t understand. They have their worlds to go back to. They’ve held their lovers, kissed them good night, eaten a real dinner and showed up to work ready to do great things while he decays in this antiseptic level of Dante’s Hell--alone but not alone.

Amazingly, it’s Victor that shakes him out of this destructive mental loop. He stops by on his way back from the rink to deliver clean clothes, freshen the flowers and attempt the Herculean task of cheering Yura up.

Victor pulls up a chair beside Yura’s permanent one and greets Beka first. He is a ray of sunshine, of course.

“Hello Sleepy Prince! Hello! Hello!” He takes Beka’s hand and smiles. “Getting your beauty rest? Twitter wants to know where the Hell you’ve been hiding!” 

Yura sucks his teeth, stomach clenching at Victor’s overly saccharine tone. 

“Look, Beka! I brought a present just for you! See?” He reaches into a fancy sports bag.

“He’s sedated, you moron.” Yura points out.

“So?” Victor sniffs. “Pay him no mind, Bekachin. He’s just grumpy he no get one.” 

With a flourish, Victor holds up a thick charcoal black sweatshirt with the Almaty Skating emblem embroidered across the chest. Stylish block designs in shades of silver and red splay across the back. It’s a high quality piece, even Yuri must admit.

“Check out the latest design for the Almaty Team! The sponsors can hardly wait to make it public! I brought this one special for you.” Victor casually drapes it across Beka’s sleeping chest. “You’ll look ravishing in it, I wonder if I should sign up for the Khazak Team instead? I mean, just LOOK at this tempting swag!” He chuckles to himself.

Beka sleeps on. Yuri sags deeper into his chair. 

“Is this why you came?”

“I came to check on you too, Kitten.” He pats Yuri’s head affectionately. “It's not easy being you right now.” It’s Victor’s first real show of sympathy but the kindness only makes Yura snap.

“It’s a fucking nightmare!”

Victor isn’t fazed. He’s one of the few people besides Dedushka who can read the language of his temper with fluency.

“Well, personally I wouldn’t wake up to a gremlin like you. Why must you be so angry, Yura? He is getting better, isn’t he?”

“He isn’t trying.”

“How do you know, he isn’t?” Victor tilts his head, reaching up to stroke Beka’s forehead. “A lot is going on in here that you cannot possibly see.”

“What am I supposed to do? Say please?” Yuri kicks the side of the bed in frustration.

“No. Of course not.” Victor chuckles. “Talk to him. If you miss him, tell him so. Only please don’t be angry? He’s had a rough week too.”

He gets up to leave but stops to press a kiss against Beka’s cheek.

“Give him something to come back to.”

Yuri has no more will left in him to argue so he lets it go. He doesn’t know how to express it but he’s grateful for Victor’s presence, grateful for someone else to process his pain. He leans over in his chair, pressing his forehead against the hands clenched tight in his lap. Victor’s palm lingers a moment on his shoulder then departs.

The door clicks shut before he can manage a goodbye.

He doesn’t know where to begin. So he closes his eyes and starts--logically--with Beka.

Whenever he thinks about Otabek Altin, he thinks about him on the ice. Not in the crowded cafe sipping coffee, not half asleep over university coursework, not coolly ignoring Potya as she clambers for attention on his lap.

He sees him as a force of motion commanding the ice, drunk by the power of the music. The ice is where they spend the majority of their time together. It’s the only world they share so far.

The day he’d last seen him skate he’d laughed at him, Yura recalls with a twinge of regret. He’d outright ridiculed the hero of Khazakstan from the bleachers as soon as the music began.

Beka’s early choice for his Spring season free skate was, in a word, a cliche. He’d chosen a fairy tale as his theme--love overcoming darkness.

The choreography was a joke--more suited to the delicacy of a woman. The oboe’s note mournful, the violins weaving a veil of longing. As though pulled by an invisible force, Beka extends one long arm to reach into a box only to pull away. He tries again but is halted, smiling shyly. The gilded chords of a harp join the violin’s pity party as he reaches inside a final time, at last pulling free a long white ribbon.

Floating into arabesque, he glides across the ice. The motions come from his hometown, courtship dances between man and woman. Beka’s fluid strength contrast the ribbon rippling like water high above his head. He cherishes it, tames it, spins and the ribbon spins with him, joining him in motion.

It trails after him as he dances then winds over his upper chest as he twines himself in its softness. How naturally the ribbon becomes his partner, as though it is the ghost of a lover. There is such beauty and sadness in the piece, such unrequited desire that Yuri’s throat turns to sand and his legs feel like deadweights from the bleachers. 

He’s never been more envious of a ribbon.

As he’s done every night, he laces his fingers between Beka’s limp ones resting against his stomach.

“Beka?” Once the name leaves his lips several things happen at once. His throat closes. His heartbeat thumps in desperate measures. A swarm of flies take over his brain. He has to pause.. Yuri grits his teeth and forces himself back into his halting narrative. The words that escape him are forced, guttural and ugly but then again, so is this feeling.

“What...what have I done? Tell me and I will fix it now.”

When people leave, it is always his fault. All his life, he’s been very well aware. 

Beka does not respond and he fears he must have caught whatever Beka has because his chest aches so.

“How can I do better if you won’t tell me?” Dampness trickles from his eyes, trailing a mess down his nose and cheeks. He swipes the moisture away angrily. “Bastard.”

It’s too much. He drowns a sob against Beka’s knuckles, pressing his lips down in a hard kiss. Beka cannot wake up to this, cannot see him broken like this. 

“Yuracha?”

For Yuri only, the world skids to a halt.

Beka’s eyes are open, dark brown and peering up in a daze, as though unsure if he is awake or dreaming.

“H-hey…” Yuri wants to say more but he is too busy biting his lips, licking away evidence. Beka’s voice is jagged as a rusty squeezebox, painful from dryness, but he whispers again. 

“You didn’t say….please.” He pulls in a deep, crystal clear breath and it’s the most gorgeous sound Yuri has ever heard. He waits, holds his own breath as Beka exhales again. And again.

“Missed you.” Beka murmurs, reaching with one hand tangled in electric leads to stretch into Yuri’s mussed hair. Yuri hesitates, draws away in shame but Beka waits, pulling back once before trying again.


	10. Do You Breathe Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to life takes time but Otabek is getting stronger. People around him can't help but feel the love. Yuri just feels envy.

Respiratory therapists, Yuri learns, are also great conversationalists. They must have a lot of time to practice all their insufferable one liners when their intended audience can do nothing but exhale through a plastic tube. Beka is looking much stronger now that he’s been weaned off sedation, staying awake longer and longer. There is color to his cheeks and his eyes are clear. Today is the first day he’s been alert enough for an afternoon respiratory session with Marta. Now that he doesn’t need the mask anymore to breathe, he seems eager to prove it.

“Ok. One big breath now!” Marta encourages Beka whose job at the moment is to make a tiny yellow foam ball in a clear plastic cylinder rise to meet a specific number with one exhale. It’s quite an ask for a man who’s been breathing nothing but canned oxygen and vaporized medicine for nearly a week. His lungs, apparently, need training in order for them to regain their former strength.

Marta places her stethoscope on his back and helps him lean slightly forward, listening as he takes another breath.

“The rales are absolutely gone!” She beams in approval as she records the number on her chart. She then switches the bell of her stethoscope to Otabek’s chest. Beka grins, quite pleased with himself. Not even one cough. He looks like he deserves a fucking medal and she looks ready to give it to him. The both of them are making Yura feel like openly gagging.

“You’ve got a fairly strong thumper there.” Marta comments.

“Only around pretty therapists.” Otabek winks. Yuri’s fist clenches in his lap.

“No one gave you permission to flirt!” 

“Who is flirting?” Beka says completely poker-faced. “My duty is to the truth.” 

Marta flushes, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

“Um, your vitals have much improved” She reports. “You should be let go by the end of the week. They still need to run some final tests and make up a discharge packet for you to take home.”

“Good. I’m done with this place.”

“At least you got to sleep through it.” Yuri mutters from the sidelines as he checks his texts. A sparkly one from Viktor makes him cringe.

I KNEW HE’D COME BACK TO LIFE FOR SWAG!!! Welcome back, handsome prince!  
(PS- Yura, behave)

Yuri is wearing his favorite Russia Federation hoodie over a leopard print T-shirt. As soon as Beka had begun to feel strong enough to sit up, he gratefully admired Victor’s gift, eager to try it on as it would provide significantly more coverage than the hospital-issued tunic he’s forced to wear in bed. However, not even his most earnest pleas sway nurse Linka who vetoes the sweatshirt, explaining that the hospital gown must stay on in order to better facilitate medical assessment.

“Medical assessment, sure.” Yuri sniffs. “They just want to ogle you.”

“Oh, come now.” Beka chides. “I’m sure they’ve seen worse.”

“That we have.” Winks the day nurse Dmitri as he enters, setting down a plastic bucket of soapy water. “Good morning, Mr. Altin. It’s my privilege to administer your final sponge bath before dispatch.”

Yura shoves his knuckles in his mouth to keep from choking.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Beka, apparently, is suddenly friendly with everyone wearing a uniform in this godforsaken place. Dmitri and he get on swimmingly as he is bathed behind the privacy of the bed curtain. Yuri wonders at how he is able to speak so casually while it's some stranger's job to wipe down every inch of his body. He idly absorbs snatches of their conversation, horse racing being the most excitable topic. Otabek’s been around horses most of his life before moving to Almaty. The Khazak people still have close cultural ties to the Mongols.

When Dmitri finally emerges and the curtain pulls back, Beka is wearing a fresh hospital gown, his hair mussed from being towel-dried. He looks relaxed and relieved to be clean again. Dmitri even walks away with Beka’s cel number. They’ve become fast friends. Yuri sulks. For someone so stand offish around fellow skaters, he’s sure open to medical professionals.

“I’ll check up on you next week.” Dmitri promises with a small wave. “Let’s have tea.”

“Why are you pouting now?” Beka asks when Yuri takes his seat back at his bedside. “Is my kitten jealous?”

“No.” Yuri crosses his arms over his chest. “Just...you’re acting all weird and shit.”

“Weird?”

“Since when did you become so friendly with strangers? I don’t get it.”

“These strangers took care of me.” Beka shrugs. “The least I can do is be courteous. Besides, you want to be extra nice to the man or woman handling your sensitive parts.”

Yuri looks sick. "Gross. When are they going to let you just shower like a normal person?"

"Dmitri says I'm to start walking rounds tomorrow afternoon to build strength back up in my legs." Beka explains. "The way I feel right now, I'd keel over if I tried to stand."

Yuri's brain buzzes. Right. He's been lying in bed for over a week.

“I know. I was there.” Yuri sulks. 

“Did you watch over me while I slept, my Yura?”

“I’ve had more fun watching paint dry.” 

Beka falls back against his pillow with a tired smile. 

“Oh, fix your face. It’s nearly lunchtime. You’re just in a mood because you haven’t eaten.” 

Lunch rounds at the hospital are busy with patients on varied eating schedules. Beka’s convalescence diet is aimed at building his strength and getting his muscle tone back. There’s whole wheat toast with peanut butter and sliced banana. A cup of clear consomme. A plain green salad. He surrenders his gelatin cup to Yuri who tears it open like a child. 

His appetite is slowly coming back and he’s happy to be allowed to drink tea again, though they will not let him have coffee just yet. He naps in shorter frequencies and actually grimaces when the lab tech takes his blood for testing. Yuri is quietly shocked at the difference, wherein just days ago he’d been too ill to even notice the sting of a needle poking into his arm. 

Despite his gaining strength, he is strangely drowsy most of the following day. Yuri frets. Now that most of the monitors and breathing supports have been taken away, there’s finally room for him to sidle up beside him and not get tangled. When Linka arrives for evening rounds, she finds Yura curled up next to Beka, running fingers worriedly through his hair as he dozes.

“He’s warm.” Yuri blurts out as soon as Linka enters, one hand pressed to Beka's forehead. Linka wastes no time with skin tests. She deftly caps her thermometer with a sterile plastic and inserts it into Beka’s ear. It beeps within seconds and she studies it. Her tone, to Yura’s surprise, is reassuring.

“Just slight touch of a temperature. It means his body is still putting up a fight. A few more days rest will mend that.”

But the look on his face must not have changed because Linka leaves and returns with a tub of lukewarm water, a washcloth and a plastic cup of ice chips.

“Make yourself useful then and make him more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Yuri wrinkles his nose after her. Next to him, Beka sighs and shifts uncomfortably, too warm thanks to Yuri’s own body heat pressed up against his side. There's no help for it. He isn't going to cool down by himself and Yuri sure as hell isn't surrendering his first nap on a real mattress in days. Mechanically, he wrings out the washcloth and folds it neatly over Beka’s forehead. Beka stirs at the cool wetness, infinitely more relaxed. His mouth is partially open so Yuri takes up an ice chip and traces it across his dry bottom lip. 

“Say ahhh?” Yuri isn’t quite sure what else to say to get Beka to open his mouth. A faint smile plays across Beka’s lips as he accepts the chip from Yuri’s wet fingers, dissolving instantly on his tongue.

 _This is so pathetic._ Yuri thinks but he takes another ice chip.


End file.
